


Let Me Sow Love

by ViaLethe



Category: Firefly
Genre: Character Study, Gen, POV Female Character, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-16
Updated: 2011-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-23 19:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViaLethe/pseuds/ViaLethe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A character study of Inara in Serenity, and how she uses whatever she has to its fullest extent in order to care for her friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Sow Love

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Words are mine, world ain't.  
> Timeline: Starts at the end of the BDM, goes back to the end of _Those Left Behind_.

  
_Let Me Sow Love_   


The exterior of a thing is important, she knows. Moreover, it is _what_ she knows. She has no expertise with wiring, with engines and metal and the repairs necessary for the ship to function on a basic level. Certainly, she thinks from where she sits perched alongside the hull, brush in hand, _Serenity_ would fly just the same without her name emblazoned on the side for all to see, just as she herself could live day to day in clothes borrowed off Kaylee, stripped of her makeup.

But then _Serenity_ would not be quite herself, not the ship they've all come to know and cherish, and Inara herself would be a different person.

Appearance is a projection, speaking without words of what lays behind the facade – wealth and power, love or strength. Her makeup, her hairstyles and elaborate clothing are her armor, the outside layer of her very identity, and they tell the world what she wishes them to.

Mal, and likely the rest of the crew as well, would scoff at the idea, she knows. But, as she fills in the carefully stenciled letters, she feels she's erasing, stroke by stroke, the memories of red paint, bones and blood, reapplying the skin that makes _Serenity_ their home.

It's the least she can do, and at the same time, it is all that matters.

***

She is brought low by the pain of others. When the fight ends, she's not on her feet, not through any injury of her own, but because Kaylee and Simon need her there.

Still, she and River are all there is, so she watches the others in surgery until their survival seems assured, and then finds an officer and politely demands what she needs. Even here and now, even with a scraped face, the marks of tears apparent on her cheeks, and blood on her hands, on her clothes, a Companion still knows how to command respect, and she receives it.

Picking her way carefully through _Serenity_ , moving in darkness through every field of debris their landing flung about, she flinches at every creak and groan of the metal around her, praying – more to the ship than anyone – that it's not about to fall apart, that she will hold and not give in, just a little longer.

When she comes to the bridge she tries not to look, tries not to inhale too deeply on the scent of blood. In the middle of the floor, she kneels, and places her incense, and prays.

Much later, when she rises, stiff with bruises making themselves felt (she _will not_ think of those seconds trapped in a reaver's grip, not ever again), she's not surprised to see River kneeling behind her, eyes huge in her pale face.

“We should-” her voices catches, strangles, stops, and she has to pause, breathe and center herself before she can try again. “We should make sure his eyes are closed.”

But for once she can't make her body move, to go around to the front of the chair and see what she knows is there, and so she's grateful when River stands next to her and says, “They are,” very firmly, as though she knows.

***

The blood on her hands is not her own. She has trained for half her life – a Companion never ceases to practice her skills – but nothing she's ever learned could have prepared her for this darkened passageway, for everyone she's depended on for physical strength, as they look to her for emotional strength, to be fallen around her.

Panic and hysteria she _has_ trained for, knows how to regulate her breathing and keep the edge from her voice, though she's aware she's growing less successful at that, her throat tightening in spite of herself as she kneels beside Simon, pressing his hands over his wound.

She needs her own, because there is no one else. Mal hasn't come back, Jayne and Zoe can hardly lift their weapons, Kaylee and Simon can't even move. Now even River has left her side, and there is no one else, so she sets Simon's hands to his wound, and readies herself to draw her bow once more. She will not be brought down without a fight.

***

She defends herself with the weapons she is familiar with. She's fired guns, of course; it's an impossibility to live with these people for over a year and never have occasion to use one, but her bow is an old friend, a faithful companion of her own, and it's archery practice that's given her upper body its fine tone.

Her aim is precise, her weapon's power more than deadly, and she has the ammunition to spare.

When Zoe goes down, and Jayne is slow to react, it's her bow that's first to fire, bringing down the attacking reaver.

***

She defends her family with her attitude, with her training, with any weapon at her disposal.

An Operative is as good an actor as a Companion; better, perhaps, since she's not entirely certain this man _is_ acting. Maybe he truly feels no tension, no fear, no anxiety.

She feels them all, and does her best to hide them, showing him only mild disgust and disdain. “He won't come, you know. Mal isn't a fool, he won't fall into your trap.”

“Miss Serra,” he says, leaning forward in his chair, not nearly close enough to touch her, but close enough that she feels the restrained menace this man carries with him, “of course he will. Because you will make your plea convincing enough to lure him here, and if you do not, I'll have my warships annihilate this house and everyone inside it.”

He will be as good as his word; reading people is her specialty, even those so blank as him, and so she knows this as certain as she's ever known anything.

As she inputs the wave frequency for _Serenity_ , he sits just offscreen, holding no weapon on her; she suspects that he'd find that sort of thing vulgar and demeaning. All he needs to force her into doing his will is intentions, and the words to make them clear.

So she sends her wave, thinking of the stories the girls have spread about her and her pirate lover, and acts as a woman would to a lost flame she's unsure of – sweet, shy, diffident and eager to please.

She knows Mal, and she can only believe he knows her well enough in turn to see through a ruse calculated to be transparent to him, the only warning she can offer.

Still, she makes preparations at her altar, just in case. A Companion must be prepared for any eventuality.

***

Leaving _Serenity_ is the hardest thing she's ever done. It isn't that she wants to, it's that she feels she _has_ to, knowing that to stay will ruin her, and ruin Mal, and bring down the whole ship in their wake. Every day, as she waits for him to set course to her destination, she hopes he'll ask her to stay on, and then prays that he won't.

It's difficult, saying goodbye once they finally land at the training house, difficult to leave these people who are so dear to her, who are her family in the lonely black. _Serenity_ has broken her boundaries, pushed through the careful limits she's lived her life by without her even noticing, and now her life is a tangle of complications, leaving her craving the regimented simplicity of teaching and practice.

She watches the ship fly away, and feels their touch and voices fading from her senses, and wills back tears as she turns, walking through the doors with her head held high.

It's not easy; none of it is ever easy, but she knows how to make it appear so.


End file.
